


A Good Day

by hoedogg



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Death, F/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Mild Blood, Not Happy, School Shootings, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, aka my life, but i put work into it so here u go, i hate this, i rly hope this is sad bc i tried my best, it slipped for seven pages, like i realized after i wrote it sorry, so now all youre left with john being included for like three seconds, these tags are a mess, this is angst and nothing but angst, this was gonna be lams but my finger slipped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 03:59:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7829605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoedogg/pseuds/hoedogg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been such a good day before he got the call.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Good Day

**Author's Note:**

> im so dissatisfied with this and hate the middle part bUT hey im a lazy asshole and never edited it so sorry
> 
> but hey feel free to tell me how bad it is in the comments
> 
> also the shooter is george eeker bye yall
> 
> EDIT: a good deal of you enjoyed this?? ???? ?? ? How?? ? but like u know thanks anyway

He wakes to his alarm, a soft smile almost immediately playing at Alexander’s lips as he remembers that today is the first of his three custody days over Philip. He’s happy to wake up his son and drive him to school each Friday because the small action makes him feel just a bit closer to him every time he does. It’s nice to know that despite him and his ex wife Eliza having divorced a few years ago, he’s still putting an effort in being part of Philip’s life. From what he can tell, the young boy seems to be just as content with the accommodations. He sighs peacefully, going over the activities he has prepared for Philip tomorrow in his head. He’s planning on taking him and his friend Theodosia to the seaquarium and then to a little ice cream shop near the beach. He can just picture the wonder on both of their faces as they stare up at the large sea creatures swimming above and around them. He’ll probably be more excited to take them than they are to be taken there just to see their happiness.

Alexander peels the blanket off of himself and swings his legs over the edge of the bed before standing and heading out the room to fight with his son to get up. As he walks through the halls of his rather small home, he smiles at the portraits of his friends and family that scatter the walls. He stops in front of an old, tattered polaroid photo of his birth family before everything happened; before his father leaving, his mother dying of sickness, his cousin’s suicide, before parting ways with his brother, before the  _ hurricane _ . He pushes down the memories that conjures up though, and focuses on how happy his family looked before evil tainted it from the inside out. It gives him a nostalgic yet sad feeling, but he still loves the picture all the same. He prays Philip never has to go through the poverty, the pain, and the fear Alexander experienced and witnessed during his own boyhood. He makes no plans of ever letting that happen.

He continues strolling down the hall before reaching Philip’s door to the right and opening the door.

“Rise and shine, it’s school time!” Alexander says in a sing-song voice as he flips the light switch near the door. Philip lets out a pained grunt in response.

Alexander walks up to his bed, and in one swift movement strips Philip of his blanket and lets it drop to the floor. He gets little response, just an inaudible whisper as he flips onto his other side and curls into himself. Time to bring out the big guns. Alexander grabs him by the pits and slowly drags him further and further off the queen-sized bed. Philip yells, kicks, and fruitlessly attempts to wiggle out of his father’s grasp. Once his torso is in the air, Alexander lays him down on the carpeted floor gently, leaving his legs (calves-down) on the bed. He pushes Philip’s legs down and once they hit the ground he lays there for about fifteen seconds before reaching for the blanket that had been previously discarded to the floor. Before he can do so, Alexander kicks it out of his grasp and watches as his son drops his arm on the floor, still stretched above him and let out a pained sob, face to carpet.

“Hey,” Alexander says, poking Philip’s practically lifeless body with the tip of his toe. “Get up.”

“No,” Philip groans, voice muffled by the floor beneath him. Alexander continues his poking until Philip slaps him in the side of the calf with the hand that had been raised above his head. “Stop it, that’s abuse.”

“I’ll stop when you get up.” Alexander smiles and pokes Philip a few more times just for good measure.

“I can’t,” Philip reasons. “I’m too busy being dead.”

“Who gave you permission to die?” Alexander cocks an eyebrow and pokes him once more.

Philip turns his head and blearily opens his eyes to look at his father. “I don’t need your permission to be dead.” He turns his head back to the carpet.

“You can be dead when you’re old and gray, and have long since passed my time on Earth.” Alexander pokes him yet again and moves his leg out of the way before Philip can slap him again.

“‘Kay.”

“That’s it,” he huffs. “I’m calling your mother.” That seems to get Philip’s attention because he immediately pushes himself off of the floor.

“I’m up! Wow, what time is it, I sure am ready for school!” He says, smiling fakely at his father and placing his hands on his hips. His chest is puffed and his long curly hair is a tangled mess.

“Yeah, yeah, just hurry up so you can eat breakfast.” Alexander backs out of the room.

“Okay!” Philip says before swinging the door closed and, as a result, slamming it.

“What have I told you about slamming doors?” Alexander calls. Philip calls back a muffled  _ sorry!  _ and Alexander chuckles, shaking his head amiably.

He can already tell today will be a good day.

+++

Today his students have behaved rather well. There was minimal disrespect and they were, for the most part, fairly well-behaved. Then again it could be because it’s Friday and practically nothing can ruin his good vibes. Sometimes his cheeriness rubs off on his students, which in turn makes him feel even happier. It’s fourth period and his English 1 class is silently reading what he considers to be Shakespeare’s most overrated work,  _ Romeo and Juliet _ .

He turns on his phone to check the time (the clock on the wall hasn’t worked once in all his fifteen years of teaching at Vernon High) and notices he has three missed calls, all from the same number. Wrong number, he assumes. He swipes the message out of his notification bar. As soon as he does so, the number calls again. Something that he can’t explain tells him to answer it. For some reason his chest feels a tiny bit heavier.

“Hey, sorry guys,” he interrupts their reading and stands. Already he’s making his way to the door. “I need to step out for a sec to take this. I trust you’ll all remain quiet.”

Of course as soon as he steps out the door he hears murmured conversations erupt within the room. The phone is still ringing and he takes a steadying breath before pressing the green telephone button on the screen. It’s probably just a wrong number. He’s not sure why he doesn’t fully believe that.

“Hello?” He says into the phone.

“Mr. Hamilton?” Says a man on the other line.

“Yes?”

“I regret to inform you that there’s been a shooting at your son, Philip’s, school about twenty minutes ago—” Alexander’s eyes widen and his heart beats out of control. This isn’t happening. “And Philip was caught in the line of fire trying to save another student.”

His vision is going blurry, he can’t breathe. This isn’t happening, he thinks.  _ Not my Philip— _

“Mr. Hamilton?” The man breaks through his thoughts. “Are you there?”

“Is he alive?” He says quietly. Please, please let him be alive.

“He is currently breathing,” the man says, “but he’s in critical condition. I’ve already informed your ex wife and I suggest you—”

“I’ll be there in five minutes.” Alexander says before hanging up in a rush.

The first thing he does is go across the hall and enter the door to the classroom where his friend John teaches marine biology.

“John,” Alexander says quickly, not allowing John to answer. “Something’s come up. I need to go. Watch my class for now? Thanks.” It’s rude of him but he runs out and back into his own classroom, giving his students a half-assed apology before hurriedly collecting his things and sprinting out. He makes a beeline for the large double doors that lead to the staff parking lot. Once he makes it in his car, he doesn’t bother with a seatbelt. He turns on the car and pulls out the parking lot. With a shaking hand he reaches in his pocket and dials Washington, the dean of the high school.

“Alexander?” Washington says.

“I’m sorry for leaving without telling you, sir. It’s just that—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Washington dismisses. “I’ve already been informed of what happened at the middle school. Was your son…”

“He— He was— I—” Alexander attempts. Words don’t seem to be on his side right now, which only adds to his anxiousness.

“Just go,” Washington says. “Be careful. Good luck, son.”

Alexander hangs up and drops his phone onto the passenger seat with a little more force than necessary. By this point, nearly his whole body is shaking like a leaf. It takes all the strength he can muster to not violently bop his leg up and down, but he doesn’t even try to loosen his death grip on the steering wheel. He begins to cry and it feels like his entire body shatters with each sob. He needs to control himself. He has to be strong for Philip when he gets there.

When he arrives at the school, he isn’t nearly as calm as he wishes he were, but he supposes that in this situation that would be an impossible feat. He parks in front of the curb and exits the car at the speed of light. He slams the door closed and runs toward the building, pushing past pedestrians, students, and parents that are gathered round the building. He looks around frantically for his son, until his eyes meet with that of a cold gaze. Those eyes, from the side of the street, stop him dead in his tracks as they stare back at him. Dark, hard eyes. The man to whom said eyes belong to is being pushed into a police car and at that moment Alexander  _ knows _ that’s him. That’s the man who hurt his son. As soon as the police car door is slammed shut, blocking his view of those retched eyes, he is snapped out of his trance and carries on his search for his son. Eventually, he pushes his way to the front of the crowd and sees his son lying on the ground, paler than ever, visibly trying to contain his screams by shutting his eyes and clenching his teeth as paramedics try to control his bleeding. He attempts to run to him but a police holds him back, causing anger to flare up in his chest.

“Let me go!” Alexander yells, a fresh wave of tears blurring his vision.

“Sir, you need to stay back!”

“That’s my son! Please, please let me go!” God, Alexander hates begging, but right now that’s all he can do.

Thankfully, the officer lets him go, and he nearly trips in his haste to get to his son. There he notices Theodosia kneeling next to him, holding his hand. Her whole body shakes as she cries next to him. Her father is nowhere in sight. Burr must have not yet gotten word of the incident. Theodosia looks up when she notices Alexander approaching. The paramedic looks at him as well.

“Mr. Hamilton! His state is getting worse. He’s been here for just about half an hour and I haven’t been able to reduce his bleeding.” Philip’s eyes fly open at the sound of his father’s name and that’s when tears begin to flow down his unnaturally white, freckled face.

“Pa…” Philip begins, but is unable to finish his sentence as another, more intense, wave up pain washes over him.

“What can I do to help?” Alexander asks desperately. The paramedic informs him to apply pressure on the injury and that’s all he can understand.

“Pa, I only wanted to save her. I did everything I could to keep her safe.” Philip says.

“It’s— It’s my fault,” Theodosia whispers. “I should have moved quicker. This would have never happened if I weren’t so slow.”

“This is not your fault, Theo. Don't put this on yourself.” Alexander says.

“But I—”

“It was my… my decision…” Philip says. His words are becoming more and more slurred. Theodosia looks down at her hands, not seeming to believe either of them. The paramedic comes back with some bandages to wrap around him. Philip attempts to speak again, but before he can Alexander shushes him.

“Save your strength and stay alive.” Alexander says, and as he does there's a distant yell. Everyone but the medic looks to the source of the noise. Eliza quickly makes her way to them.

“Eliza—”

“Is he breathing? Is he going to survive this?” Eliza asks desperately. Alexander doesn't think he's ever heard her typically smooth voice so raw. As she looks down at Philip’s condition, she glares hard at his injury where Alexander and the medic’s bloodied hands continue to attempt to stop more of the fluid from escaping him.

“Who did this?” She asks in a broken tone. “Who did this, Alexander?”

“Mom,” Philip chokes. “I'm so sorry—”

Eliza shushes him and runs a hand through his curly hair. He closes his eyes at the soothing touch, despite the incredible pain in his side.

“I remember us playing piano.” Philip says, a small smile forming on his lips.

“I did teach you piano.” Eliza answers.

“You'd put your hands on mine.” He says.

Eliza gives a watery chuckle before whispering. “You changed the melody every time.”

“I always did change the lines.”

“I know, now shhh.”

Alexander wants desperately to say something. But for the first time in a very long time he's left utterly speechless. He feels useless but his mouth isn't working. All he can do is stare at his son with wide eyes and labored breathing. Theodosia seems to be on the same boat.

Then another medic comes with a gurney in tow and between him and the other doctor who had been there, pulled Philip up onto it once he got the bandage around him.

Alexander, Eliza, and Theodosia all stand and follow the two to the ambulance where they roll Philip to.

“Where the fuck were you!” He says to the new medic.

He doesn't get an answer. Instead the man says, “only one person can ride.”

“You go,” Alexander says to Eliza, wrapping a comforting arm around Theodosia’s shoulders. “I'll be there as soon as I can.” Eliza nods and climbs into the ambulance. Once it speeds off, Burr’s voice is heard over the crowd, calling out for his daughter.

“Daddy!” She calls back, and he turns around. As soon as he sees his daughter safe, he visibly relaxes and runs to her. She meets him halfway and they hug for a solid twenty minutes with Theodosia crying into his shoulder and his nose buried in her hair, eyes shut tight. He then looks up at Alexander.

“Where's…” he trails off. Alexander shakes his head.

“He saved me,” Theodosia says. She begins to sob again, tears running down her face. “He didn't have to, but he did, and now he's hurt and I'm so sorry—”

“It’s not your fault.” Alexander repeats. He then looks to Burr. “I have to get going to the hospital now.”

Burr nods. “We'll meet you there after I call Theo to let her know that everything's okay.”

Alexander hums and nods once in response before heading toward his car. Once again he’s left driving, alone with his thoughts, his fears, his demons, and every voice that ever told him that he should have just let Philip stay home like he wanted. If he had, his son would be alive and well. But if he had, what would become of Philip’s dear Theodosia? It’s irrational to blame himself for this, he knows, but he can’t help it. Today was  _ his _ day with his son. Today Philip was his responsibility. He always knew Philip would blow everyone away and the thought of him never getting the chance to show the world how amazing and beautiful he is only helps to further the tightness in Alexander’s chest.

Actually, what he feels right now is more than mere tightness. It’s a dull knife slicing through his skin and making itself welcome in his— well, in his  _ everything _ . Because that’s where he feels it: Everywhere. The anxiety and panic, the breathlessness and the desperation for his son to be alive, the memories and visions of his family dying when he was little. He can’t seem to get the image of his father walking out the door of the small house they lived in to never come back, waking to his mother’s cold, limp arms around him, the blood that poured from his cousin’s head where he had shot himself, his brother walking away from him, insisting that they go their separate ways.

He thinks of all of this, amongst a whole flurry of other thoughts and worries, all the way until he finds himself in the hospital parking lot. He hadn’t even realized he had made it there. How long has he been sitting here? He needs to hurry to the ER to see if Philly is still alive. And hurry he does, as he runs like he never has before through the automatic sliding doors of the hospital and straight up to the receptionist’s desk, not sparing the other people in the waiting room a glance.

He gives the small woman Philip’s name and is informed that the boy is still undergoing surgery and would have to wait for word from the doctor. He feels more panic rise in his chest but before he could start unfairly yelling at the woman behind the desk about how he needs to know  _ now _ , he hears Eliza’s voice call out to him.

“Alexander?” Her raspy voice squeaks. He turns to see Eliza seated at a chair in the far corner of the waiting room, hugging herself with a box of tissues in hand (a nurse or someone must have given it to her). A tear he hadn’t notice himself holding in makes its way down his cheek at the sight of his once beloved wife in such a broken and pained state. He makes her way slowly to her as she stands and runs into his waiting arms. He ignores the sympathetic and pitying gazes they receive from others and the both sink down onto the cool, white tiled floor.

Eliza shakes like a leaf in Alexander’s arms and he instinctively tightened his hold on her, wishing to shield her from the cruel eyes of the world. No one bothers to tell them to move. He isn’t sure how long they’ve been there but at some point Alexander hears Eliza shakily whisper prayers to God, asking Him to have mercy on her son, begging Him not to take her baby boy.

Alexander surprises himself by joining eliza in prayer. He hasn’t prayed in years; it’s always felt more like begging and he’s always hated begging. But it’s all he can bring himself to do. He can’t stand the feeling of helplessness that has damn near consumed him from the moment he got that god-forsaken call. So he leaves it in a higher power’s hands. All he can do besides pray is hope he isn’t disappointed.

After what feels like centuries, the couple (who have already migrated into two seats, still wrapped around each other) see the doctor walk through the doors that lead to the hospital’s rooms. Both people’s heads shoot upward at the sight, eyes wide and breathing once again becoming erratic. Alexander feels something dark and evil consume the very last of his soul when he sees the regretful look in the doctor’s eyes, like he’d rather be anywhere but here. At that moment, Alexander just  _ knows _ . He glances at Eliza’s face, her dark eyes dance over every inch of the old man’s face, and the positively dead look on her own face makes it evident that she knows what’s coming as well. He looks back up at the doctor.

Despite this, Alexander still mumbles a fearful, “Is he…”

The doctor closes his eyes a drops his head sadly before shaking it in response.

They stand there for an indescribable amount of time, Eliza’s breath becoming even more wild than it had before until everything seems to combust out of her.

_ “NO!”  _ She screeches a horrible sound before falling to her knees and curling in on herself. Alexander follows her suit, yet again wrapping her in his embrace. He sobs into her back as her still curled up body leans into his chest. He’s much more silent with his devastation, unlike Eliza who is currently sobbing incoherent sentences and soaking his shirt. She screams a series of  _ no _ ’s and  _ why _ ’s but that’s all he can understand. It’s so unusual for Alexander “Always Has Something To Say About Everything” Hamilton to be this quiet, barely breathing. Funny how words are what got him where he is, but become so foreign when it really matters. That doesn’t stop the fire hot tears from racing down his face, accompanied by drool and snot all in a competition to see who can cover his face faster. A few nurses attempt to calm them down, but to little avail.

+++

The funeral is held exactly four days after Philip’s death— far too soon in Alexander’s opinion, but it’s going to be a small, quiet ceremony, with very few people attending. He knows Philip would have wanted a large celebration in his name, where everyone who ever loved him could drink and laugh and reminisce his time on Earth. But he never knew what it was to lose someone, and therefore had never knew that it is nearly impossible to smile at a funeral— let alone  _ celebrate _ . Maybe one day, when everyone’s had time to digest the fact that he’s gone and will never come back, they’ll throw a party in his name. Alexander sends a small promise up to Heaven that it’ll be an event like no other. Only the best will be done for his boy.

He sighs, and watches Eliza’s hands fix his tie and smooth out his quit with her hands. She looks up into his eyes, a small reassuring smile reaching her lips. He smiles back, and wraps an arm around her small shoulders as they both silently make their way to Philip’s room. They stand there in front of the door frame, neither daring to enter, feet planted on the floor. A tear falls down his tired eyes (he’s barely slept since it, as he mournfully calls it, happened). Eliza notices it when she hears him sniffle, and when she does, she wipes it away with her thumb and gently kisses him before pulling away and wrapping her arms around his middle. He sighs into the embrace.

Eliza’s been staying here since the it happened, sleeping in Alexander’s bed with him. Sometimes they sleep in Philip’s room, holding each other as they cry into the bed and blankets that still smelled like their little boy. Those are the nights where they need each other the most.

Alexander is first to move, slowly closing the door before they both turn and make their way to the front door of the house. He grabs his keys from the tiny glass bowl on the small table next to the door. He allows Eliza to exit first before turning the lock to the door and closing it behind him. As he looks ahead, he’s faced with a beautiful sunny day. It seems inappropriate for a funeral day, but when you think about Philip’s bright smile, his never ending joy, his overall radiance… well, it just makes sense for it to be a perfect day.

**Author's Note:**

> im sorry you sufered through this. it was my first attempt at something purely angsty i rly am sorry


End file.
